


My shelter

by Iolanfg



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Comfort, Greg is Sweet, M/M, Mycroft Feels, Post-Episode: s04e03 The Final Problem, Protective Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-06
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2020-01-05 21:16:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18374243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolanfg/pseuds/Iolanfg
Summary: "I didn't know how long he'd been there. I hadn't even planned to go in the first place.He just needed a little peace and quiet, a safe place, and his feet did the job.He was barely aware to leave the building, nor to walk through the streets avoiding the surveillance cameras. "Tired of work and family, Mycroft seeks refuge.English is not my first language, it has been translated with the help of Deepl Traductor. I'm sorry for any mistake.





	My shelter

**Author's Note:**

> We shared in the Facebook group Mystrade is our division: Fanfiction Writers and Readers this image, which belongs to the Sherlock Scape Game video created by Moffat and Gatiss, and theories arose....  
> Everything belongs to Doyle, Moffat and Gatiss.

My shelter

He didn't know how long he'd been there. I hadn't even planned to go, in the first place.

He just needed a little peace and quiet, a safe place, and his feet did the job.

He was barely aware of leaving the building, nor of walking through the streets avoiding the surveillance cameras.

The cellphone had stayed in the office, that office from which he had left with a vague excuse, unable to hear his own thoughts among the screams and the not so veiled threats between

Lady Alice and Sir Edwin on the one hand, and his parents and Sherlock on the other.

The two officials were talking about Homeland Security and criminal cases that could be reopened if necessary, their parents and Sherlock shouting about human rights and threatening to go to the media, for whom Sherrinford's discovery would be a gold mine.

Meanwhile, constant reminders on both sides that it was all Mycroft's fault for not having done better. What exactly could have been done better, nobody said so, but it should have been done better. It was the only thing on which everyone seemed to agree.

It is not that the reproaches were something new, it is not that it was a novelty that nothing would ever be enough and that he was not accustomed to the contempt of people who never listened to him but who were always there, talking about their needs, what they expected of him, demanding solutions.

So he got up without being noticed and left the office, took his coat before Anthea's impassive gaze and, discreetly, left the building.

He did not feel sad or angry. Only incredibly empty and tired of having to carry the problems of others, wondering how he had let his own life slip through his fingers without noticing it.

Perhaps, he thought, the time had come to make a decision.

  
"Where are you?" The question, what had been going through Greg's mind uninterruptedly all day, remained, once again, unanswered.

It was past midnight and Mycroft Holmes had been missing for over 15 hours. After Sherlock's furious call hours earlier, they had spent the day trying to find the analyst's whereabouts.

An extensive search operation was deployed, security cameras had been checked, Mycroft's cottage and apartments in Belgravia and Pall Mall had been inspected, the Diogenes Club had

even sent agents to Musgrave. They had also searched the homes of the people closest to him, the empty Baker Street apartment, his personal assistant's apartment and even Greg's

house, just in case...

It looked as if the man had evaporated into the air.

And as the hours passed, the anger at the attitude of those who sought him, without a shred of concern, only furious that he was wasting his time with his childish behavior instead of

fulfilling his duties as guardian of the Kingdom and guardian of his family, had given way to the fear, which had settled in his stomach, as he tried to get rid of the idea that the man might

have done something drastic and irreparable.

"No," he repeated, "Mycroft would never do such a thing... He would never do something like that to me..."

Exhausted, he ran his hands over his face, almost laughing at himself.

Yes, he knew he was closer to the politician than anyone else.

He knew that only he had been allowed to see beyond the cold exterior façade.

He knew that long ago, the trust and friendship between the two had given way to a much deeper feeling. Something they never talked about, even though they both knew it was there, waiting for someone to have the courage to name it.

It was simply never the moment.

Always other things, other worries, other fears, got in the way.

And right now, at that moment, all those reasons, all those excuses, seemed ridiculous to him. "Where are you? Where would you take refuge when you wanted to escape from everything? Where would you feel safe and secure?"

Unable to find answers, he decided to go home, take a shower and try to rest, while still looking at the phone, wishing and at the same time fearing to receive a call saying that the search was over.

And right now, at that moment, all those reasons, all those excuses, seemed ridiculous to him. "Where are you? Where would you take refuge when you wanted to escape from everything? Where would you feel safe and secure?"

Unable to find answers, he decided to go home, take a shower and try to rest, while still looking at the phone, wishing and at the same time fearing to receive a call saying that the search was over.

So when exhausted, frustrated and nervous he opened his garage door, he wondered if he was starting to hallucinate, if the desire to have Mycroft with him, to protect him, had caused his mind to start playing tricks on him.

Sitting in a corner of his garage, in a corner that made it invisible to anyone entering through the interior access door, with his back leaning against the wall and half hidden by one of the pillars, his legs extended, his eyes lost and exhausted, there was Mycroft Holmes, showing no signs of having noticed his presence.

  
Parking quickly and closing the garage door, he moved slowly towards the man, went slowly towards the man, striving not to yell at him for having frightened him, disappearing in that way, and not to run and hold him tightly against his chest, relieved to see him, at least apparently, safe and sound.

\- ¿Mycroft? Mycroft...

He knelt on the floor, gently placing one hand on his. Mycroft blinked, before turning his head slowly toward him, with the ghost of a small smile.

\- Hello, Gregory....- He whispered, in a weak voice, but still with a slight smile, as if there was nothing strange in that situation. As if it were the most normal thing in the world that one of the most powerful men in England, wearing a suit that cost more than the inspector's entire wardrobe together, was sitting on the cold concrete floor, hidden in his garage.

More relieved than he had ever felt before, he gave him an affectionate smile, his hand still on his, answering also in a whisper.

\- Hello. What are you doing here, eh? I was very worried.

Mycroft looked at him, surprised, as if he hadn't imagined that would happen, and somewhat embarrassed.

\- I'm sorry, I... I didn't want to worry you, just... I just needed to get out of there, find some peace and... - He seemed surprised by his own words, as if they had gone out without thinking about them. - A safe haven, I suppose. Forgive me, I didn't mean to be a nuisance, I didn't....

Greg smiled, ignoring the heat he felt growing in his chest before those words, ignoring the itchiness in his eyes and the voice that said "And of all places, of all people, have you chosen me?".

  
It was not the time to feel happy, but to reassure man.

\- Hey, okay, fine, I'm glad you're here, really. I'm glad you're all right. Everybody is looking for you, everybody wants to know where you are, you know.

\- Yes, I can imagine... - the answer came with a brief laugh without humor. Yes, he had missed a couple of important meetings. Also, his parents would like to receive answers about his visits to Eurus and Sherlock.... Well, God knew what he might want this time. Too many things to do to afford a few hours for him. - Yes, everyone wants something, everyone needs something...

The unpronounced "no to me, but if of my" was clearly understood.

He sighed, without taking his eyes off Greg's, who approached him, whispering still, his eyes shining.

\- And what do you want, Mycroft? What do you need?

The answers, automated, came to his mind: end terrorism, a fairer and more orderly world, keep Sherlock safe, that his family did not suffer.... He stopped them all.

  
No, that's what he wanted, yes, but it was what he wanted for others. That's not what Greg was asking him.

For the first time in his life, someone was asking Mycroft Holmes about his needs, about what he wanted, not about what he needed or wanted the rest of the world.

Slowly, without saying anything, he placed his hand on the inspector's cheek, gently stroking the strong jaw and the edge of his lips, as he continued to look him in the eye, getting a little closer, a little insecure.

Greg closed the distance, kissing him softly, cradling his face, feeling that he was finally home, that everything was, at last, as it always should have been.

The kiss was calm and sweet, expressing everything they had never dared to say out loud.

\- You're what I want, Gregory. You're all I need.

Greg smiled, happier than he had ever felt.

\- Am I your refuge?

Mycroft smiled back at him, feeling, for once, at peace with the world looking at those chocolate-colored eyes. Nothing else mattered.

\- You are everything, Gregory.

 


End file.
